In the sixties, back when I styled myself into either a latter day beatnik or a new wave hippie, I ate bugs. It wasn't protein that I was seeking it was attention. Listen humans, I said, you must transcend your petty conventions and become like me...supermen!
No one listened so I ate bugs to get their attention. It worked pretty well, I got attention but none of the girls would kiss me. I didn't care. I was on a mission. I was showing society the folly of entrenched social behavior.
Most of all I ate cockroaches (they proved to be the most dramatic, the trick being to first pull off the wings). Then one night three of the girls who wouldn't kiss me and I were sitting in a booth at Ed Salem's Ice Cream Bar having sodas and a small green moth landed on our table so I ate it. Big mistake.
I turned green. Nature had endowded the little moth with a most effective defense mechanism. Teen-age boys who ate them didn't die they just suffered agonies hereto unknown to their breed, and they, like me, lived to tell others as I am telling you -- Don't eat little green moths, they taste terrible.
Last edited by themilum; 02/25/07 09:43 PM.
